Her nerves were fast giving way under the strain, and no one could help her.

If she left the room or the house, the consciousness that the helpless creature was lying silently weeping for lack of the sight of her pursued her like a presence.

She saw the piteous old face on the pillow, and the slow tears trickling down the cheeks, just as distinctly as if she were sitting by the bed.

On the whole, the torture of staying was less than the torture of being away; and for weeks together she did not leave the house.

Sometimes a dull sense of relief came to her in the thought that by this strange confinement she was escaping many things which would have been hard.